It's Just A Tale
by reiAlethea
Summary: *EPILOGUE COMPLIANT*  There were once two people who despise each other. But one day a war broke out, and they would never, ever be the same again.
1. Prologue: Ottery St Catchpole

DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling. All credits should go to her.   
**WARNING: DH SPOILERS…well, basically all the HP books are spoiled here.**

**It's Just A Tale**  
By reiAlethea

**Prologue: Ottery St. Catchpole, 18 Years Later**

"_A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."_  
Lao Tzu

It was dawn, and a calm silence enveloped Ottery St. Catchpole. The sun hid behind the hills, and the tall grass glistened with fresh dew, making it seem as though a million diamonds were studded in every blade of leaf. Fog blanketed the nearby hill, blurring the graceful curves of the hillside with soft, lazy wisps; and every windowpane was frosted with condensed morning air.

No one seemed to stir that cool morning. That was, until a faint blue light flickered to life at the outskirts of the village.

Deep brown orbs fluttered open. Hermione Weasley awoke from a shallow slumber for the umpteenth time that dawn, just as she did for the past nights. A particular thought troubled her, made her restless. She knew she had to do something.

_Write it down._

Her brows knitted. 'Write it down? How? When?' she thought.

_Now._

She quietly shifted to the side and grasped the wand on top of the desk. After murmuring _lumos, _a bluish light erupted from its tip. Her eyes narrowed as she put the faint wand light near the face of the clock resting on the desk. It read 4 am.

A twitch and a shift in the mattress jerked her up. Ron Weasley, who was sleeping beside her, groaned softly and flailed a long arm at her side. She quickly put the wand light out and pretended to be asleep.

A couple more minutes passed before Ron was snoring steadily again. She hesitated, but after catching a last glimpse of the sleeping redhead, she slipped off the bed and tiptoed towards the study two rooms down.

Despite her efforts to pad as noiselessly as possible, the wooden floorboards creaked beneath her feet. Her heart rapidly beat against her chest as the sharp crack softly echoed across the hall. Turning her head to check any presence, she arrived at the doorstep.

With relief, she silently closed the door behind her. She flicked the lamp on and retrieved a black leather notebook in one of the desk drawers. As she hastily flipped the pages she dipped the feather quill in the bottle of ink. She smoothed out a clean page to start, but her hand stopped midway as her quill was about to set down.

"How should I start?"

Blotches of black ink marred the once clean paper. Noticing the mess, Hermione placed the quill down and tore the page off. 'Why can't I start?' she asked begrudgingly. She crumpled the paper with frustration and threw it in the wastebasket standing in the corner. But it missed, and instead fell near the window.

Her heavy sigh resonated in the cold room. She stood and walked towards the crumpled paper when she noticed the droplets clinging on the other side of the window. She paced towards the window instead and looked out, the piece of paper momentarily forgotten.

The outline of the hilltop barely registered through the fogged-up glass. She was disgruntled of her incapacity; she thought her mind was just as good as the window she has been staring at – hazy and indecipherable. She could see words drifting at the forefront of her mind, could almost grasp the idea of what she has to write. However, she was having difficulty at stringing these words together.

'I have to organize my thoughts first,' she said to herself.

She decided to wipe the condensation off the windowpane. The lush garden sprawled below, glistening with dew. 'Yes, that's what I should do,' she sighed. 'If I want to write it well, I might as well remember every detail.'

The willow tree's graceful branches arched against the soft breeze, its yellow-orange leaves swishing at the disturbance. Images flickered past her mind's eye – images of a certain dark-haired wizard and his pale-skinned partner. That particular, rather distant memory triggered an emotion so strong that before she could fully notice, strings of words and a deluge of ideas were unraveling in her mind's eye, beckoning her to note them down.

Noticing again the piece of paper, she picked it up. 'About time. This is going to be a long day.'

She tossed the crumpled paper in the basket and went back to the desk. With a calm flick of the quill and a steady grasp of the page, she started with a short sentence.

_Once there were two people who despise each other…_

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 1: White

DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling. All credits should go to her.   
**WARNING: DH SPOILERS…well, basically all the HP books are spoiled here.**

**It's Just A Tale**  
By reiAlethea

**Chapter 1: White**

"_The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone." _  
Harriet Beecher Stowe

For once, the purest white was all he could see.

The gathering looked simply serene; the sun was shining brightly that Sunday morning, casting an ethereal glow on the edges of towering trees and playful shadows amongst the thicket. Across the lawn a sprawl of white-clad people was all his eyes could see. A lovely sight indeed – but it was also the most ironic thing he has ever seen.

Harry felt a lump lodged in his throat. It had been clear to him that pain wasn't going to subside soon, but he wondered if he could still contain the raw emotions he had been burying within him. Only a few days had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts, and the smell of death and mourning still hung heavy in the air, its weight a burden to those who lost a loved one or two during the war. There was nothing but deep-stricken grief in the Wizarding World, and not even he, Harry Potter, was exempt from it. One thing was certain: it was still painfully difficult to rejoice despite the fall of Voldemort.

He blinked a few times to wake up from his momentary abstraction and found himself back to the reality he wanted to escape from. Once again he was alone by the Burrow's kitchen doorway, staring out at the crowd talking under the warm afternoon sun.

"Are you alright, mate? A bit tired?"

Harry turned and saw Ron emerge from the kitchen with a smile plastered on his freckled face. Despite the seemingly warm smile, the puffy brown eyes and the heavily-creased forehead were not amiss to his sharp eyes.

"I'm fine Ron," he lied, his lips twitching to form a weak smile. "How about you? You seem to be lacking rest yourself."

Staring at pools of weariness that were Ron's eyes evoked a vivid memory in his mind. Just three nights ago, he witnessed a distraught and broken Ron quietly sobbing in his pillow. That sight confirmed his gnawing hunch: his best friend was deeply affected by the loss of his brother, Fred. Harry knew Ron wouldn't admit what he was going through, but Ron needed not admit it. Not to him, anyway. He had gone through the same ordeal Ron was experiencing, and he knew it all too well. It had already been two years since Sirius died and a year since Dumbledore passed away, but the pain brought about by the loss of his two mentors, he hated to admit, was still fresh as if it happened only yesterday.

Despite seeing Ron in a forlorn state, he remained tucked under his sheets, merely watching his best friend weep into the night. Even though the urge to talk to Ron became stronger as minutes ticked by, he kept mum and pretended to be asleep all throughout the night. For how could he give comfort to a friend if he himself cannot lull the hurt he was feeling? How could he tell him that everything will be alright when he knew, deep in his heart, that it was not?

A sudden pang clutched his heart. He felt so helpless for not being able to help his best friend. To watch Ron break down in front of him was unbearable.

"…who wouldn't be?"

Harry saw Ron looking at him suspiciously.

"Ah…I'm sorry," blurted Harry. "What did you say again?"

Ron frowned. "I said, 'with Mom's nagging, who wouldn't be?'"

Harry's face was blank for a good few seconds before he got the punch line. He let out a small chuckle to disperse the pregnant pause.

Ron snorted. "If you're just not too obvious, Harry, I would have bought the listening act. C'mon mate, what's on your mind?"

"There you are!"

Both Harry and Ron whirled around to look at the direction the voice came. Hermione Granger, dressed in a strapless white ensemble, came to view, weaving in and out of the dense crowd to greet them.

"I've been looking for you two," she said, grabbing Ron's and Harry's arm and dragging them out of the back door. "Come on. The ceremony is about to start. There won't be any seats left for us if we don't hurry up!"

Harry's shoulders tensed. He chanced a discreet glance towards Ron and saw the redhead's mouth tighten. Hermione beamed a warm, sincere smile to Ron. However, the moisture in the corner of her eye was enough testimony. He watched her clasp Ron's lifeless hand in her own.

"We're here Ron. We're here," she hushed, soothing him from the darkening mood. "Let's go."

She tugged Ron's arm softly as the two made their way out of the Burrow's back door. Harry trailed behind, all the while witnessing Hermione's loving gesture and the glazed brown eyes that were Ron's.

He tore his gaze away from the scene and stared dejectedly at his calloused hand, trying hard to will away the tight, constricting feeling welling up anew in his throat. The sea of white seemed to devour him and the sad melody being played drowned him. And as he treaded along the aisle with heavy footsteps and an even heavier heart, sadness started to claw on him in every direction, making him want to turn back. But he forced himself to go on, to continue treading the grassy path and join the rest of the crowd in the final homage.

Three coffins stood in front – one colored purple, the other in black, and the last emblazoned with U-No-Poo's wrapper design on the shiny casket surface. 'No doubt that's Fred's,' he chuckled softly. What was George thinking?

He shifted his gaze to the people gathered in the small garden. Redheads almost dominated the gathering, but there were a few brunettes and blonds he could make out from the crowd. From the corner of his eye he saw Mister Weasley hugging a crying Mrs. Weasley. Andromeda Tonks smiled at the cooing little Teddy, but her eyes reflected only sadness. Bill sat beside Fleur who had started the waterworks since midday, and Charlie was comforting a sniffling Percy. Ginny's face was blank, but he knew she was in grief as well, judging from the endless stream of tears shining on her face.

A microcosm of the aftermath, Harry regarded the display, as he followed Hermione and Ron towards some empty seats on the front row. He was sure that image was all he would see that sunny morning. However, George was a different matter.

While everyone donned white garb, George wore the flashy magenta robes he and Fred usually wore to work. He was even mildly amused that he didn't notice him earlier, for the bright robes grabbed too much attention. Harry thought that the mundane stopped there, but he noticed that George's detachment from the norm extended beyond clothes. Whereas others cried or, at least, looked remorseful, George only stared at the printed coffin before him, his face an emotionless mask. The twin's expression was indecipherable, a puzzle, and seeing him in that state strengthened the unpleasant lurch Harry had been feeling for days. How could a blank canvas disturb him more than the countless portraits of despair surrounding him?

The music finally stopped playing. A man in flowing gold-trimmed, snow white robes was already occupying the podium and had started speaking. But at that moment, all he could hear was an incomprehensible babble and all he could see was a blur of white. His mind must have gone blank, he thought – as blank as George's face.

The redheaded twin suddenly rose from his seat and stood before a now vacated podium. He held no paper in his hand; only the podium's sides filled his palms. The twin glanced at the U-No-Poo designed casket lined up in the row. "I couldn't believe funerals could also be an effective advertising platform. Fred, you are a genius."

People chuckled at the joke, but it didn't help lighten the mood. It even seemed to Harry that despair further settled in.

George's lips graced a small smile, the first reaction Harry had seen from him, and began to address the crowd. "As I started writing a eulogy last night, I tried to remember all the traits that best describe Fred. But alas, I was unsuccessful. I found myself not being able to encapsulate the person that he is. I was afraid I didn't pay enough attention to notice how a wonderful person he is. Such a big mistake, I thought. He had been with me from the start, so it never came to my mind the possibility that we would get separated when the time comes. If only I have known that it would be this soon…"

A long, almost deafening silence settled in, until a sob from Mrs. Weasley broke it. Mister Weasley continued patting her back. The sniffs and muffled sobs rose and fell in sync with the cold breeze sweeping across the field. It was the coldest moment in Harry's life, and he couldn't suppress the shiver traveling beneath his skin. He almost forgot it was late spring.

"That was what I thought at first," continued George. "…that my loss for words were due to my lapse. However, as I was looking at Fred a while ago, I realized why I couldn't describe him. I couldn't say anything about him because I found out I cannot simply describe him. To me, he's not just a brother or my best friend…he's more. No, he's not just more. He's everything. Everything. And to lose him…"

When he returned his gaze to George, he saw him holding a glass of wine in his hand and tears falling down his face, tears that soon found its way down to his chin and into the cup. Harry was shattered.

"I'm sorry Fred, couldn't help it," the twin laughed as he hastily wiped away his tears. "Don't even think of haunting me in my sleep! I promise I won't cry anymore. But keep your word too, will you? Don't forget to watch over me…over us…or else I will haunt you. I love you Fred, and I will always miss you."

George turned to the coffin and raised his glass, a salute to his twin. And as he drank its contents, Harry noticed the gaping hole on the side of George's head. He was surprised to feel that the hole didn't seem as strange-looking as it used to be. Perhaps it had become a physical representation of Fred's passing – a gap that could never be filled, a part that could never be replaced.

When he shook away his thoughts, Andromeda was already standing before him, handing little Teddy to him with carefully outstretched arms.

"Can you be a dear and hold Teddy for a minute?" asked Andromeda.

"Yeah, sure," he replied, his mind still drifting off.

Andromeda carefully placed the gurgling baby in his arms. Harry was scared; Teddy began squirming in his arms and giggled with glee. He didn't know how to handle an infant, and since it was his godson he's holding, he was almost driven mad with paranoia and anxiety.

"You'll be fine," said Andromeda, as if reading his thoughts. She gave him an encouraging smile and carried on to the podium.

As Andromeda was delivering her eulogy, Teddy changed his hair color from dark brown to vibrant purple. Harry tried listening to the speech, but once more all he could hear was the sigh of the wind and his godson's gurgle. He stared mutely at the bundle of joy in his arms, mesmerized by oblivion personified. And suddenly, he was afraid.

How would he tell Teddy about his parents? How would he tell him of their lives and of their untimely deaths? Teddy might be too young to understand now, but it wouldn't be long before he had to explain why his parents were not there by his side. He remembered the time he learned of the true reason behind his parents' death, the pain he felt and the questions that circled in his mind regarding it. He didn't anybody going through the same ordeal he had been through, but as he looked at Teddy's glittering eyes, he knew he was not able to fulfill that promise.

Teddy quieted down and stared back at him, seemingly understanding his woes. And unexpectedly, his small fist encircled Harry's thumb – a reassuring touch. Harry stared, amused at the child cradled in his arms. A small, sad smile crept upon his lips, and as soft as the breeze he whispered.

"I'm sorry…"

He felt sudden warmth wrap around his unoccupied hand. Ginny was gazing back at him with the same blazing look she had at Dumbledore's funeral.

"Harry, it's time. Are you ready?" she asked softly.

That was the only time he noticed that Andromeda was once more standing before him, offering her outstretched arms to cradle little Teddy. The commentator was signaling to him to come to the podium. Almost everyone was looking at him now.

He nodded mutely and handed Teddy back to his grandmother. He slowly walked towards the podium and straightened himself up to pay his respects to the person who had been his mentor and friend during the last couple of months. If he could only straighten the emotions already running wild in him…

"To the friends and relatives gathered here today, good afternoon," he started, gazing at the blinding white before him. "I met Remus four years ago, during my third year. He was the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor that time. I thought he would only be a professor to me, but he taught me lessons beyond the subject."

"He taught me one of the most important principles in life: courage. To never give in to hesitation, to fear, and to never give up fighting for what you believe is right – courage kept me going through the obstacles I've been through. If not for this, I would not have been able to go on. Remus Lupin was not only a professor. He was also the most courageous person I have ever known. A father, and most of all, a true friend. It might seem a great loss. But it would have been a greater loss if I haven't met him at all."

Harry bit his lip; the choking feeling worsened. Images flickered before him – George crying, Teddy's doleful eyes, the sea of white…he was no different from them. His clenched fists shook as reality sank in him: he had not only lost yet another mentor or friend; he lost another part of his family – just like the rest gathered that fair afternoon.

Harry breathed deeply and looked at the clouds drifting by amidst the yellow-tinged sky. He was not too sure, but he thought he saw a wolf-like shape amongst the scattered clouds.

"Thank you for everything, Moony," he murmured, his eyes still fixated on the clouds above. "I will miss you."

He stepped off the podium and found himself sitting beside Hermione and Ginny once more. Dumbledore's funeral flashed in his mind – the pleasant afternoon, the birds chirping merrily, Ginny looking at him with a blazing look on her face, the sinking feeling in his chest. He realized that this moment was an exact replica of the memory, incredibly ironic and utterly surreal. Everything before him seemed like part of a rather distant dream. But he knew better. That moment was like an echo, a repetition of despair and loss years ago. It was real. It was true. And he could do nothing but accept.

The coffins finally floated, a signal that the funeral procession had begun. He watched Hermione lead Ron away and the rest of the Weasleys rise from their seats. The lump further rose in his throat just as the rest of the crowd stood from their seats. His eyes began to sting.

He looked at the blue sky above to stop his welling tears from falling. Warmth enveloped his hand once more. He finally noticed Ginny walking beside him, staring at Hermione and Ron walking ahead of them. Tears were still streaming down her face, but the blazing look he saw earlier remained.

"Ha – rry," she hiccupped. "Will we be okay?"

As if acting on instinct, Harry firmly held Ginny's hand on her own. The redheaded girl gazed at him with glazed, inquiring eyes.

"Yes."

Ginny gave a small, warm smile and wiped her tears away. Harry returned the smile, still holding her hand firmly in his. However, as she turned away and resumed gazing at Ron and Hermione, the smile on Harry's face quickly turned to a frown. Suddenly, he was not as confident about his reply as he used to be.

* * *

"Moony, I am taking care of little Teddy. Say hi to Padfoot and Prongs for me."

The wolfish, corpse-like contraption suddenly burst into pieces with a loud bang, squeezing another high-pitched shrill from Mrs. Black's portrait. But Harry wasn't even miffed by this. He bolted his way up the rickety staircase, not even noticing Kreacher standing before the doorway with his slippers at hand.

His smile melted as fast as the sinking of the sun outside. His steps were merely quick at first, but as the choking feeling threatened to well up anytime, the brisk walk turned into a run. The urgency to lock himself in his room was heightening, the heavy feeling pressing harder against him. He almost couldn't breathe.

It was not long before he found himself in his room. He immediately shut the door and let himself fall on the bed.

Light filtered through the clear glass window and fell upon the rumpled black blanket. He brought his hand over his squinting eyes to shield against the glare. It was a warm summer twilight, but all he felt was cold. His heart hammered against his chest, and soon an unmistakable sting started to irritate his glittering emerald eyes.

All he felt was remorse.

If he had only figured out the clues Dumbledore left earlier, he would have destroyed the remaining Horcruxes before Voldemort waged a war on Hogwarts. If he had only gone to Voldemort faster, then he would have saved more from their untimely deaths. If he had only been hours, perhaps minutes early, maybe he would still hear Fred joking about George's missing ear. Maybe Remus and Tonks would be sitting with him, Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys around the Burrow's kitchen, talking about how little Teddy changed his hair color while having a morning bath.

It was his fault Remus, Tonks and Fred were gone. He was responsible. And this mistake, however much he tried, he could never undo.

He lowered his hand and stared hard at the harsh orange light. His sight blurred, his eyes stung. The choking feeling he could not suppress any longer, and before he could react against it, fresh tears had made its way down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry Remus, Tonks, Fred...I failed you..."

He closed his stinging eyes and turned around to shove his face in his pillow. However, his forehead came in contact with something he didn't expect. Was it parchment he felt?

He opened his bleary eyes and rubbed the tears away. It was indeed parchment that lay before his pillow. An extremely white parchment envelope to be exact, lying flap side up.

Harry brows knitted as he propped himself on a sitting position and retrieved the envelope. He turned it and saw _Mr. H. Potter _embossed on the middle in black. He wondered who it came from while pulling the equally white parchment inside. And just as quickly curiosity swept upon his face, so did it also fade.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 2: Confrontation

DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling. All credits should go to her.   
**WARNING: DH SPOILERS…well, basically all the HP books are spoiled here.**

**It's Just A Tale**  
By reiAlethea

**Chapter 2: Confrontation**

"_She stands and waits, and in her posture the pain no longer tells you to live, and in her presence joy is unimaginable."_  
Neil Gaiman, The Sandman: Endless Nights

It was late spring, but the warm night air was unusually crisp. While stars twinkled faintly in slow succession and the crescent moon, shining like polished silver, traveled along the expanse of jet-black sky, a pale sliver of moonlight pierced through a crack in a gray stone wall and illuminated upon a patch of platinum blond hair.

Draco Malfoy was tucked in the corner of a dark, dank cell, shivering from trepidation. In his mind's eye, the stone walls of Azkaban seemed to tower over him; the sound of crashing waves echoed loudly in his ears. It had only been a week since he was imprisoned in the fortress, but Draco felt like he was there for months. He knew he made so many mistakes in his life, too many, and because of those mistakes he was paying the price.

He wondered how long he's going to remain imprisoned, but there was absolutely no sign that he will be freed from the fortress in a long, long time. He clutched his legs close to his chest, trying to stop his body from shaking. It was hopeless. As his languid gray eyes looked at the dark ceiling, memories instantly flashed like a roll of film at the back of his mind.

_A pause, then the sound of rejoicing filled the Great Hall. The Dark Lord lay cold and lifeless. War was finally over. The uproar of the crowd was deafening, but all he can hear was the rapid pounding in his chest. His heart wrenched with fear. _

'_Are they dead?' His fear wasn't realized yet, but with the war, tragedy was possible, even inevitable. He was certain his parents were among the Death Eaters who broke into Hogwarts, and he was afraid of knowing that they might be part of the casualties. He weaved in and out of the crowd in quick steps, trying desperately to find his parents. But as he squeezed his way into the mass of people, he watched in horror as dead bodies of magic and creature folk alike lay among the ruins of the Great Hall. His fear seemed all the more real as every second ticked by._

_And then he saw them._

_His father's and mother's eyes darted in the crowd, seemingly looking for something. Their calls rang clear in his ears._

"_DRACO!"_

"_WHERE ARE YOU DRACO?" _

_His pace quickened, in sync with his heartbeat. The crowd melted into a blur of colors. Before he knew it, he was already screaming._

"_MOTHER! FATHER!"_

_As if in slow motion, he saw his parents turn towards him. His mother's eyes widened somewhat, before fresh tears shone and streamed down her grime-smeared cheeks._

"_DRACO! MY SON!"_

_His mother and father ran swiftly, and he only had time to blink before he found himself sandwiched between the two. He hugged his parents fiercely, his hands clutching at them hard. Relief washed over him just as tears flooded his eyes. Just a few minutes ago, he was almost driven crazy with fear of finding them gone. But at that moment all he felt was pure euphoria in knowing that his parents were here, still alive and well. In his parents' arms he felt safe._

_Then he went back to reality._

_He opened his eyes and saw the crowd all around them. They were surrounded by the opposing camp, and he realized how vulnerable they were. He looked into his father's eyes and saw that he, too, was watching the people._

"_Don't be afraid Draco," he said. He felt his father's hand on his shoulder, but he wasn't reassured. Fear settled in once more. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he and his family were captured. And how right he was._

The rusty sound of a turning key broke him out of his reverie. His empty gray eyes shifted to look at the opening door when a man clad in a black uniform entered the cell, followed by a dementor looming far behind. Draco felt the room grow cold.

"You have a visitor, Mister Malfoy," the deep, hoarse voice of the prison guard reverberated in the keep.

He stared at the guard with blank eyes for a second. 'Who could the visitor be?' he wondered. Surely, it wouldn't be his parents. He was certain that they, too, were detained inside the walls of Azkaban. He couldn't think of any relatives who would visit either, as most, if not all, would be hiding, dead, or imprisoned in the very same walls he and his parents were.

He pushed the thought at the back of his mind. It mattered not who the visitor was. Just a moment out of confinement was welcome. He slowly stood up and offered his thin pale hands to the waiting guard. And as soon as a soft click of locking metal handcuffs echoed in the cell, the silent trio went, treading through the narrow hallway.

It was not a very long walk to their destination. After a few minutes, Draco arrived in a well-lit chamber. His eyes squinted a little at the seemingly harsh glare, mildly amused at how quickly his sight adapted to the darkness of his cell. When his eyes readjusted, he saw a fairly young man quietly sitting on a chair behind a small wooden table. His dark brown hair cascaded up to his shoulders, and his tanned fingers were interlaced before his pursed lips. A pair of gleaming, blue eyes followed him like a hawk.

Draco's eyes surveyed the enclosed area further. Two dementors hovered lazily just a few feet up. In each corner stood four black-clad wizards, each alert and firmly grasping their wands. The guard ushered Draco to sit on a chair opposite the man.

The room was wrapped in silence for a couple of minutes. Draco sat still in his seat, his lips unmoving. His face showed nonchalance, but he studied the man before him with intense curiosity. He looked familiar somehow. With the way the man carried himself, it reminded him strongly of Snape. But then there was someone else. He tried to think who it was but he just couldn't put a finger on it…

Draco looked at the pale blue eyes staring back at him. He had the feeling that the man was seeing the depths of his soul, the very same feeling he had when he looked at Dumbledore.

"Good day Mister Malfoy," a warm, melodious voice spoke.

Draco just stared back at the man, his lips a mere slash.

The man cleared his throat before proceeding. "I believe I haven't introduced myself. I am Leander Apollo Wight, member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I was assigned to be the defense lawyer for your case, so here I am on behalf of the department to inform you about your upcoming trial."

Draco blinked. He thought he was doomed in Azkaban forever. His heart thudded in his chest, and he felt a glimmer of hope stir within him.

"A trial?"

Mister Wight nodded curtly. He unfolded his hands and rummaged in his cloak's inner pocket to retrieve an envelope. He handed it to Draco, and Draco, in turn, tore the envelope open and pulled the yellow parchment out. His glistening gray eyes skimmed through the letter.

_Mr. Draco Malfoy,_

_As of May 25, you have been charged with the murder of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore and the alleged participation on the Death Eaters' acts of terror._

_Your trial will be held on June 5 at exactly 4:oo pm in the Ministry of Magic courtroom 10. You have five days to send a notification._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Mafalda Hopkirk  
__Improper Use of Magic Office  
Ministry of Magic_

Draco stared at the yellow parchment blankly. This was it – his ticket to freedom! He browsed through the letter to make sure he didn't misread it.

"I believe it says you have to give a reply," Mister Wight said. As Draco shifted his gaze to the brown-haired wizard, a fresh roll of parchment and quill was thrust in his hands. He immediately set the letter down on the table and started scribbling on the parchment.

_To Ms. Mafalda Hopkirk,_

_I received the letter regarding my trial. I will be in the Ministry of Magic courtroom at the specified date and time._

_Draco Malfoy_

He carefully folded the parchment and gave it to Mister Wight, who slipped it inside a new envelope and sealed it with wax. He placed it inside his cloak pocket.

"As you have already received the letter, we can now proceed with the finer details," Mister Wight said, pulling another roll of parchment in his cloak's pocket. "First off, we have to take care of witnesses. We will invite people who you think will be of great help in proving your innocence. And I would suggest you find one that has a clean record."

Draco turned the piece of information over and over in his head. Witnesses? He couldn't think of any at the moment. His mother and father…certainly they knew that he didn't kill Dumbledore and didn't take part in the Death Eaters' movements. But they were Death Eaters too. The defense would be too weak if they stood as witnesses.

There's Goyle as well. But he didn't think he counted as one since his parents are Death Eaters. His thoughts grazed on Snape, the only one who could ever defend him. But then he heard that he was killed during the war, by none other than Voldemort. And even if he was alive, he would also be facing charges for being a Death Eater.

He rummaged his brain for other potential witnesses but to no avail. There was always something negative that was hooked with the people he thought of. The glimmer of hope that was blazing within him minutes ago was now slowly dissipating from the dawning realization. Despite the chance, he knew he was doomed to get the end of a short stick. There was no hope for freedom after all.

The warm, melodious voice of Mister Wight pulled him out of his self-reflection and back to the enclosed, well-lit chamber they were in.

"So Mister Malfoy, do you have any person in mind that would be helpful in your case?" he asked.

Draco's eyes rested momentarily at his metal-bound wrists. "Yes," he said. "Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson." As he said the names of the two people he considered as friends, Mister Wight furiously scribbled at the new roll of parchment in his hand.

"And?"

"There's no one else," Draco replied.

"This is not good, Mister Malfoy," Mister Wight commented. "Judging from the weight of the accusations against you, two witnesses are not enough to even merit you a single step outside these walls." He set the quill on top of the wooden desk and clasped his hands in front of his chin. "I hate to ask you this, but were these two people even present on the scene of the crime?"

"No, they weren't," Draco replied, trying hard to mask the discouraged tone. Mister Wight heaved a disappointed sigh.

"Well then, they're not that good, are they? Nevertheless, I would still include them in the lineup. But I suggest you think hard on other witnesses this time...someone who is present at that moment. Perhaps, you can start with the time Albus Dumbledore was killed." Mister Wight got his quill again and readied himself to write.

Draco felt irritation rise in him. Wight was pushing him to come up with witnesses, but how could he do that if there wasn't any? He wanted to give in to anger and sass, but he was quick to cease the urge. Malfoys didn't show emotion, and he was taught well in this fine art. He dared not disappoint his father with such a slip up.

He raised his bound hands instead and rubbed his eyes slowly. Images of the night at the Astronomy Tower resurfaced at the forefront of his mind, and it took all of his willpower not to shake like a leaf at the horrible past he was haunted with. The previous headmaster's death still rattled him to the core, and revisiting the events just intensified the horror that lingered. But it must be done, he thought, and despite the unpleasant feeling, he played the memories over and over in his mind.

The bitter night chill, Dumbledore's words echoing faintly in his mind, masked individuals running up the wooden spiral staircase, then a flash of green light…fragments of that night flickered quickly like a passing train. He reviewed each detail, but try as he might, he couldn't think of people other than Snape, the Death Eaters and the members of the Order who could defend him. He was certainly doomed. Until he remembered…

"Harry Potter."

"I beg your pardon?" Mister Wight tilted his head on one side to get a better hearing.

"Potter. Harry Potter," he replied. Draco's spirits hit an all time low as Mister Wight scribbled once more on his parchment. He knew it's a lost cause. 'He wouldn't come. He despises you,' he said to himself. 'Why would he defend a Death Eater's son who participated in the demise of Dumbledore and caused the attack at Hogwarts two years ago?'

"Excellent, excellent," Mister Wight exclaimed. "With Harry Potter standing as a witness for you, nothing is impossible."

Mister Wight was just about to open his mouth when Draco stopped him.

"I would like to go back to my chamber, if you don't mind."

"Of course, of course," Mister Wight said. "I should be going as well. I also have to write an invitation to the witnesses you mentioned."

Mister Wight signaled the prison guard to come in. He rolled the parchment and stuffed it, along with the quill, inside his robes. Draco stood up and was slowly being led away by the guard and dementor when the man spoke once more.

"I will be back tomorrow for your statement, Mister Malfoy," he said, his voice echoing inside the chamber. "For now, I wish you the best of luck. Let's hope your witnesses accept the invitation."

Draco slightly nodded and left the lawyer sitting in the visitor's chamber, his heart sinking as he plodded back to the dark, empty cell that imprisoned him.

* * *

"Your move, Harry."

Harry blinked a few times. He saw the white queen piece dragging the fallen black knight to the side. A coffee cup stood beside the chess set, its contents already gone cold. He tore his gaze away from it. The sound of dishes washing on the sink and knitting needles clicking aloft a chair nearby rang louder in his ears. Suddenly he was reminded that he was still in the Weasley Burrow. The house that day was empty save for Ron, so Molly Weasley invited Harry and Hermione for lunch. He was now spending the rest of the afternoon in the family's living room, playing wizard's chess with Ron while Hermione watched.

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione asked. Harry sighed resignedly. He was doing it again – drifting in and out of his thoughts. How many days had it been when it started, he thought.

"What's up, mate?" Ron frowned, sipping his cocoa. "You don't look so good."

"Is something bothering you Harry?" Hermione inquired once more. "You can talk to us about it, you know?"

Harry looked at his two friends brooding over him like a mother hen. He would have laughed at the sight. However, there was something more disturbing than the worried faces of his friends. He stared blankly at them, his head swimming in thoughts of a certain blond individual…

"Malfoy."

Ron spluttered on his drink.

"Blimey, Harry!"

"Sorry," Harry stammered, breaking out of his rumination. "What did I say?"

"You said 'Malfoy,' Harry," Hermione said while wiping the brown stain off Ron's shirt. "Ron! Why do you have to spit your drink every time you are surprised?" she followed exasperatedly.

"Hey! I don't enjoy this you know," Ron stammered while helping Hermione wipe the cocoa. "I can't help it. It just happens automatically."

Harry closed his eyes and inwardly cursed himself for unconsciously saying his thoughts. He didn't intend to disclose the matter to his friends, for he knew they wouldn't understand – most especially Ron.

Hermione raised her eyebrow. ""Why did you suddenly bring up Malfoy? Isn't he in Azkaban?"

He looked at Hermione and Ron's inquisitive eyes, and he knew there was no turning back.

"I received a letter a couple of days ago," he said. "Malfoy is having a trial, and, well…he asked me to be a witness."

Ron's face flamed. "That prick's got some nerve! After all that he's done!"

"Yeah, I know," Harry said flatly.

"Well then," Ron continued, "why even bother with that stupid letter? Surely you're not thinking of actually becoming his witness…or are you?"

Harry remained silent.

Ron's eyes bulged. He threw his hands in the air exasperatedly. "Dammit Harry! You ARE planning to do just that!"

Harry stared at the fidgeting chess pieces, obviously impatient waiting for the next move. He knew Malfoy was innocent, that he has been a victim of Voldemort's ploy to destroy him. He also owed Malfoy his life for not giving them away when they were captured in Malfoy Manor. He thought becoming a witness would settle everything and show his gratitude. However, he couldn't tell Ron all of these. Not now especially, for he wouldn't understand it. He knew his best friend still mourns for Fred's untimely death and blames all Death Eaters for it – innocent or not.

Ron looked piercingly at Harry. "Doesn't Fred's death mean anything to you, Harry?" he asked grudgingly. "What about Professor Lupin? Tonks? Don't their deaths mean anything to you?"

Harry sighed. "Ron, it's not Malfoy who killed them – "

"HE IS STILL ONE OF THEM!"

"Stop it, you two!" Hermione snapped.

Mrs. Weasley came rushing in the room, a wooden spoon in hand. "RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!" she roared. "What is happening in here?"

Hermione couldn't do anything but bury her head in her hands. Harry avoided Ron's angry eyes. He knew standing as a witness for Malfoy was the right thing to do. But why did it feel like he was betraying his best friend?

"Fine," Ron whispered harshly. "If their deaths do not mean anything to you Harry, do whatever you want. Go and save that fucking Death Eater. But don't ever look at me for support. You're on your own."

Ron stood up abruptly. "Sorry mum," he mumbled, "but I think I have to get some fresh air." With that, he stormed out of the house. Mrs. Weasley quickly followed her fuming son, berating him along the way. Hermione looked helplessly at Harry before running after the redhead.

Harry closed his eyes and massaged his throbbing temple. What did he expect anyway? Approval? Preposterous! It had only been a few days since the funeral, and the wounds were still fresh. He couldn't expect Ron to understand now. He inwardly cursed himself for the blunder he had done. If only he shut himself up.

"Harry."

He looked up and saw Mrs. Weasley standing before him, staring at him with serious, unblinking eyes.

"We need to talk."

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 3: Forlorn

DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling. All credits should go to her.   
**WARNING: DH SPOILERS…well, basically all the HP books are spoiled here.**

**It's Just A Tale**  
By reiAlethea

**Chapter 3: Forlorn**

_"Our deeds determine us, as much as we determine our deeds."_  
George Eliot

Ever since Ron became his best friend, Harry was treated as part of the family. For the entirety of his adolescent years, he became so close to the Weasleys that it came to a point where it had become natural for them to show how they were at home. Harry had seen most of it from Mrs. Weasley, who chastised her children numerous times in front of him. Luckily for him, although he was treated like a son, there never was a time when he had been the subject of Mrs. Weasley's infamous face-melting glares. At that moment, however, Mrs. Weasley's very deadpan stare, which was usually reserved only for her mischief-making children, was the first he has ever seen directed at him.

Harry felt fazed. He had done it, he thought; not only did he make Ron mad, he also finally made Mrs. Weasley angry. A million ugly outcomes were already forming in his mind, and he braced himself for the inevitable.

Mrs. Weasley's expression softened somewhat. "Your coffee's gone cold, dear," she said, glancing at Harry's half-empty cup, "why don't you grab that. I'll pour you a fresh cup."

Harry's mind went blank. The sudden amiable expression on Mrs. Weasley's face caught him off guard. He was expecting to see fury in Mrs. Weasley's eyes, followed by a never-ending sermon that could have put any priest to shame, but the outcome that he was so sure would happen did not come to fruition. Confused but not wanting to argue, Harry got up from his seat, carried the cup, and trailed behind Mrs. Weasley towards the kitchen. As he set his cup on the sink, he thought the situation was better than he expected, and he silently thanked the heavens for it.

"Now, before you apologize for some fault I know nothing about," Mrs. Weasley started while floating the kettle on the stove and setting down two clean cups on the table, "why don't you explain to me what happened?"

Harry almost thought he was already off the hook, but apparently it was just the beginning. Having no choice, he complied and sat across her. He still didn't know how to start telling the red-haired woman the reason of her son's outburst nevertheless. Maybe describing the setting would buy him time, he thought.

"We're just playing wizard's chess and talking, Mrs. Weasley…"

"Yes, I can see that," said Mrs. Weasley, "but go on Harry."

He had no choice. He fiddled with his fingers nervously. "Then...I, well, I told them about the letter I got…from Malfoy's lawyer."

"By Malfoy, you mean the little one, Draco?" she asked. When Harry nodded feebly, Mrs. Weasley's face showed bewilderment. "So what is in the letter, dear?"

"He's in Azkaban now," replied Harry, "for being a Death Eater and allegedly killing Professor Dumbledore."

"That much is expected," she said. Harry nodded.

"Well, he's having a trial next week…and…"

"Yes?" Mrs. Weasley's eyes crinkled with curiosity.

Harry bit his lip.

"…well, he asked me to testify…for him."

The kettle whistled loudly, but it took a few seconds before Mrs. Weasley noticed the noise. With a wave of her wand, she hastily whisked away the kettle from the stove and poured coffee into the cups. Harry noticed a few drops of the umber-colored liquid spill on the scrubbed table surface.

Mrs. Weasley became silent, seemingly pensive with the information disclosed to her. "Are you going to testify?" she asked, her voice almost inaudible.

Harry hung his head. He hadn't really decided yet. He strongly wanted to accept it, but there were so many things to consider, one being the Weasley's reaction. When he got the letter he was sure it would trigger a negative effect, and Ron's outburst a few minutes ago was enough testament of what he feared. The Weasleys had already endured so much emotion during the past few days that he simply didn't have the heart to bring any more news that would further their pain.

Harry was silent for some time, and Mrs. Weasley couldn't help but sigh. She knew Harry wanted to testify but was concerned of their feelings as well, and she felt sorry for the boy for being caught in the middle.

"I know you want to, Harry. And you should."

He looked at Mrs. Weasley with surprised eyes. "You're not mad at me, Mrs. Weasley?" he asked.

"Nonsense, Harry! Why would I be?" Mrs. Weasley replied. "Want your coffee with milk and sugar?"

Harry nodded again. A sugar bowl and a bottle of milk came floating out of the fridge a second later. Mrs. Weasley was helping herself with two sugar cubes when she continued. "You're not hurting anybody, Harry," she reassured, "if you're thinking of Ron, don't worry about it. He's just having a hard time accepting Fred's passing, but he'll come around eventually."

Harry hadn't expected Mrs. Weasley to take the situation so easily. She was Fred's mom after all. He half-expected her to be more emotional about the predicament than any member of the family. But this rather unusual understanding on her part he simply couldn't understand.

"But you know Malfoy's a Death Eater."

Mrs. Weasley's face became a little somber. "Yes I do," she replied, "but that doesn't mean he did what the other Death Eaters did." She paused for a moment, seemingly weighing the words she's going to utter next. "As a matter of fact, I think he joined because he had no choice. Even though Fred's death is caused by that wretched group he is part of, I don't blame him for it. Fred's death is not his doing, and I believe too that he didn't kill anybody, including Dumbledore. I really do pity that boy."

Harry watched in amazement as Mrs. Weasley sipped her coffee. When he thought such outcome was not possible, here it was, happening right in front of him. He felt a more profound respect for Mrs. Weasley. Despite the loss of her son, it didn't stop her from being compassionate even towards an enemy.

She noticed Harry looking at her and smiled. "Dear, you should add some milk and sugar to your coffee before it gets cold," she said.

He stammered a hasty "sorry," which made Mrs. Weasley chuckle. Everything seemed to go well, but Harry still felt unsettled. Ron was still mad at him, and he couldn't think of any way to appease his friend's anger. He didn't blame him for reacting that way, but as he looked at the milk slowly dissolving in his cup, he couldn't help wishing that the redhead reacted the same way as his mom either.

Things were never easy for him ever since the beginning. But as he sat there, drinking coffee with Mrs. Weasley in the Burrow's kitchen, he wondered when that pattern would end.

* * *

Harry twisted and turned that night. The black bed sheet had crumpled, the comforter twisted to knots, but still The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice couldn't sleep. Images of earlier events in The Burrow still perturbed him, particularly his rout with Ron.

_Ron looked piercingly at Harry. "Doesn't Fred's death mean anything to you, Harry?" he asked grudgingly. "What about Professor Lupin? Tonks? Don't their deaths mean anything to you?"_

_Harry sighed. "Ron, it's not Malfoy who killed them – "_

"_HE IS STILL ONE OF THEM!"_

Hours had already passed, but he could still see the flaming orbs that were Ron's eyes at the forefront of his mind. He couldn't suppress a shudder at the thought. The redhead hadn't been talking to him, and Hermione, being stuck in the middle of the fight, couldn't do anything but keep quiet. Mrs. Weasley's support surprised and relieved him, but he still felt unsettled. He knew he shouldn't have divulged the letter because of the possibility of a misunderstanding. However, not telling them felt wrong either.

Harry gave up the idea of getting sleep and instead got up from the messed-up bed. He groped for his wand on top of the wooden bedside drawer and with a flick, the light turned on. He pulled a white parchment out of the same drawer, and as he slipped on his glasses, he unfolded and read the contents of the letter again.

_Dear Mr. Harry Potter,_

_Good day to you! I'm Leander Apollo Wight, defense lawyer of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I'm writing in behalf of my client, Mr. Draco Malfoy, who is currently detained in Azkaban for allegedly murdering Albus Dumbledore and participating in the Death Eaters' crimes. He will have a trial this coming Friday, June 5, and he personally requested me for your assistance as a witness to the case. _

_The trial will be held at exactly 4:00 pm in the Ministry of Magic courtroom 10. If you wish to assist in any way, please send an owl to me no later than June 3._

_My client is hoping for your kind consideration. _

_Sincerely,_

_Leander Apollo Wight_  
_Department of Magical Law Enforcement_  
_Ministry of Magic_

He read the letter over and over again, still indecisive. He still didn't know whether he should testify or not. He hadn't exactly been on good terms with Malfoy since they both stepped into Hogwarts, so it wouldn't make a difference if he refused. However, there was a gnawing feeling that he should help his former archenemy despite everything. Mrs. Weasley's words echoed in his mind, and as much as he hated to admit it, he shared the same sentiment: Malfoy had been the victim. He knew Malfoy was innocent, so telling the Wizengamot the truth was just the right thing to do. Not doing so would only make him feel guilty.

But in testifying, wouldn't he also feel guilt for somehow betraying Ron, his family, and most especially, his godson Teddy?

He sighed heavily. The battle to testify or not raged on in his head, making him more and more confused. Harry looked at the calendar hanging on the wall. There were still some days left before the trial, plenty of time to think about it…

A sudden _pop_ roused him from his thoughts. When he looked up from the letter he was reading, Kreacher was already bowing so low in front of him that Harry thought his snout-like nose touched the floor.

"Kreacher apologizes for coming at this hour, Master," croaked the elf, "but a letter of urgent nature just arrived for you."

The wrinkly house elf pulled an envelope under the snowy white towel draped over his thin chest. "Thanks Kreacher. You may go," said Harry as he got the letter from Kreacher's outstretched hands. The elf bowed low once more then disappeared with a faint _pop_. Harry unfolded the letter that has been handed to him and read.

_Dear Harry,_

_How are you? I'm sorry if I wrote to you at such an hour, but I have to speak to you immediately about important matters. If you're still up, firecall me in my home. _

_Truly yours, _

_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

He wondered what Kingsley meant by important matters, but since he knew there was no way he was going to get some sleep anytime soon, he immediately ran downstairs towards the living room fireplace. On his way down he saw Kreacher currently wiping the frame of Mrs. Black's covered portrait.

The jar of floo powder stood beside the fireplace, ready for use. Harry got a handful and threw it in the dying embers. A roaring green flame suddenly sprang forth, and he stuck his head inside the fire, seeing the flames lick at a few of his bangs.

"Shacklebolt Flat."

In an instant, a view of Shacklebolt's home appeared in front of him. Frames of colorful abstract art pieces were hanging on the clean white wall. Black cloth blinds covered the large vertical window. A black modern sectional sofa adorned with red and white square pillows lay in the middle of the room. A cream-colored rectangular carpet covered part of the oak hardwood floor, and lying on top of it was a small black coffee table with a white bowl filled with red and green apples.

Kingsley came into view a few seconds later. Judging from the cloak he's wearing, it looked like he just came from work.

"Hi Kingsley," said Harry, "you wanted to talk to me about something?"

Kingsley gave a small smile. "Yes," he said. "But if it's not too much trouble for you, I'd like you to step into my home for a few minutes to talk about it."

Harry nodded and removed his head from the fireplace, only to step into the green flames once more. He felt a strong wind blow against him, followed by a forceful tug in his gut for a brief moment before he found himself standing in Kingsley's fireplace.

"It's good to see you Harry," Kingsley greeted as Harry stepped out of the fireplace and dusted himself.

Harry shook his outstretched hand and smiled. "It's good to see you too Kingsley," he replied. He surveyed the room and thought that although it looked modest, it was well put-together.

Kingsley led him to the awaiting sofa and gestured for him to sit down. "Do you want anything to drink?" he asked.

"No thanks," replied Harry. "So what is this important matter that you want to tell me?"

Kingsley sat down a few seats away from Harry. "I have some terrific news," he started, "I made a few arrangements with the Auror Department a few days ago. They are ecstatic to welcome you to the group, and come Monday you will already start training under them."

Harry was speechless. He had dreamed of becoming an Auror since he stepped into Hogwarts, but the war and not attending his last year at Hogwarts put the dream to a halt. He thought it was impossible for him to reach his goal. However, Kingsley's wonderful news brought hope in him again.

"I…I can't believe it," he stammered. His smile widened more, and Kingsley beamed at him just the same. "Thanks a lot Kingsley. That's the best news indeed." He shook Kingsley's hand one more time with gusto.

"And there's more," added Kingsley as they broke the handshake, "Ron and Neville will also be under the training of the Auror Department."

Harry's smile melted.

"Is something the matter, Harry?"

Harry sighed. Images of Ron's angry face surfaced in his mind once more. "It's nothing Kingsley," he said. "I'm just really tired." Harry thought it best not to tell Kingsley about the letter he received. There had been too much feedback already from his friends that he dared not receive another one from the current Minister of Magic.

Kingsley looked at him quizzically, but didn't press any further. "I apologize for cutting your rest short, Harry. Don't worry, I would make this very brief," he continued. "Since you will be under the training of Aurors and will be constantly going on trips, I also arranged for your added protection. Starting tomorrow, two Aurors will escort you until you finish your training."

"You've got to be joking," he said, but Kingsley's face was serious.

Harry's jaw dropped. "No. Definitely not. I can take care of myself, you know that."

"Yes I do," Kingsley replied, "but there are still a lot of Death Eaters out there. We can't risk your safety."

Harry strongly disliked the idea. Memories of last summer were still vivid in his mind. He consented with the Order to use six people, most of which were his closest friends, as decoys in transporting him to safety. The death of Mad-Eye Moody and the injury George got in that ordeal left him guilt-stricken until the present. He didn't want to relive that moment again. He didn't want anyone to risk their lives for his safety.

"Kingsley, I don't want anyone to be killed on my behalf anymore. Please."

"I'm sorry Harry," Kingsley cut short, "but until Death Eaters still roam freely on this land, the decision is final. The Aurors will be in Grimmauld Place tomorrow morning."

Harry felt furious. There was too much to handle already, and now this: Aurors, at the prime of their career, risking their very lives to protect him. The horrors he endured just last year threatened to come back once more. The good news divulged to him earlier seemed miles away.

"I've think I've heard enough for the night, Kingsley. I'd better go." He stood up abruptly from the couch and paced quickly towards the fireplace. He was too frustrated to even notice that Kingsley tried to stop and pacify him. With a loud bellow of "Grimmauld Place," Harry was back in the Black's living room.

He dashed to his room and flopped on his bed. There had been too many ups and downs for one whole day, and the beginnings of a dull headache pounded in his forehead. The peace and quiet he so achingly yearned was gone in an instant. And it was all because of…

His hand landed on the white parchment sprawled on the crumpled sheet. Malfoy's letter lay on top of the bed, dog-eared and heavily creased. As soon as he figured out what it was, he couldn't help but swear at it. Ever since the letter came, all kinds of horrible outcome and memories surfaced. They were already out of Hogwarts, but still, the ferret-boy managed to annoy and ruin his composure.

He snatched the letter grudgingly and walked towards the wooden desk littered with a stack of books. And after pulling a parchment out of the drawer, he scribbled a hasty reply.

* * *

Midnight had fallen in Azkaban. Draco was curled up in the corner of his cell, his pale fists clenched tightly, and the knuckles bloodied and bruised. A wave of pain and hopelessness washed over him as seconds ticked away towards his looming trial. He was certainly doomed, and on his birthday too. 'What a lovely way to spend my eighteenth birthday,' he thought. Try as he might, the images of the events a few hours ago swam in his mind.

_Four days had passed since he was in the visitor's chamber. After the letter was given to him eleven days ago, he had two consecutive meetings with Mister Wight regarding the case. However, the lawyer managed to disappear without a word regarding his witnesses. _

_Now he was back again in the same room, sitting on the same chair, with the same brown-haired lawyer looking intently at him._

"_I'm sorry to be the giver of bad news," Mister Wight started, the familiar melodious voice echoing around him. "Regarding your witnesses, Mister Blaise Zabini and Miss Pansy Parkinson declined your offer." _

_A pang of hurt coursed through Draco. It was typical of Blaise to save his own skin first when things turn to the worse, but he wasn't expecting Pansy to join in as well. 'Her parents might have prevented her,' he said to himself. He wouldn't exactly expect Pansy's parents to eagerly save a Death Eater, would they? Of course they would protect their daughter from harm and prevent their name from being tarnished. He knew most people would quickly distance themselves from suspected Death Eaters for fear of being associated with them, most especially after the War. The tables have turned, he thought bitterly: the Death Eaters had become the outcasts of Wizard society._

_He looked at his lawyer sitting in front of him. Even if he wanted to show his disappointment, he couldn't. No, he shouldn't. Malfoys weren't supposed to show emotion. Malfoys weren't supposed to show weakness._

"_That's not all," said Mr. Wight. He took an envelope out of his robes pocket and pushed it across the table to Draco. "This came from Mister Harry Potter."_

_Draco stared at the yellow envelope and, with fumbling hands, opened the letter. He quickly read the contents of the parchment._

_'Dear Mr. Wight,_

_I received your letter, and I will think about it. I will keep in touch as soon as I made my decision._

_Harry Potter'_

_Draco placed the letter on top of the wooden table; his face remained stoic. Mister Wight resumed on clasping his hands in front of his chin._

_"I meant to give this to you sooner, but I thought it best to wait," he explained, "I received this letter five days ago, and I waited everyday for a reply. But I haven't received a single letter since then."_

_Draco felt his heart wrench tightly. 'What was there to expect, Draco?' he said to himself. He tried to convince himself that he saw this coming, but he couldn't deny the fact that he was more disappointed. No, disappointment was too light a word to explain his emotion. He felt betrayed, hurt, and he didn't know why he was feeling so towards the man who had been his enemy from the start. _

_His cold, emotionless mask was giving way when the prison guard walked in to collect the prisoner. For once he was relieved of the guard's interruption, and as he slowly stood up, he requested something from the lawyer one last time._

_"Can I keep the letter?"_

_Mister Wight sighed and stood up too. "It's yours, Mister Malfoy. But I think the officials will examine it first before giving it to you."_

_"I understand," he replied. "Would you please give it to the officials then? I will wait for the letter." With that he walked alongside the prison guard and the Dementor, leaving the brown-haired lawyer brooding in the chamber again._

Draco shifted his gaze to the torn pieces of paper lying some few inches away from him. A well of anger surged within him once again and he pounded his fist on the stone wall. He thought that there was hope for freedom. He blindly hoped that Harry Potter, the one person whom he taunted, will miraculously leave the past behind and help him. He thought noble Harry Potter will care.

He thought Harry Potter will save him just as he saved the Wizarding World.

He thought Harry Potter will save him once more…

But the letter showed him that he didn't know any better.

'What were you expecting Draco? A sudden change of heart?' he seethed. 'You think Harry-Fucking-Potter will save you again? Accept it Draco. You're doomed to die here in Azkaban. No one will save you. Not even The Savior of the Wizarding World.'

Warm tears trickled down his cheeks without his bidding. Why did it hurt so much? With his head bowed in defeat, he sobbed for the first time in two years.

* * *

It was the afternoon of June 5. The sun glowed to a fiery orange, and everyone at the Ministry tarried with their work. But unbeknownst to all, a tarrying of different nature occurred deep in the Ministry dungeons.

A crowd of Ministry officials were squabbling amongst themselves as they await the person to be tried. Dressed in neatly pressed minister robes, Kingsley Shacklebolt resumed his seat in the middle of the front row bench. Mister Wight stood on the right side of the room, leaning on the railing that divided the Wizengamot benches from the prisoner's arena.

When the door swung open, an eerie silence enveloped the room.

Draco Malfoy entered the room with two Dementors lazily floating and two Aurors looming behind. He traipsed and sat at the lone chair placed in the middle of the room. He chanced a look and saw a multitude of faces glaring at him. His face showed no signs of emotion, but deep inside, he winced at the harsh stares.

Kingsley looked at the pale blond man briefly and unfolded the roll of parchment before starting. "The accused being present, let us begin. Are you ready, Mister Malfoy?"

"Yes," replied Draco. Kingsley nodded in acknowledgement.

"Disciplinary hearing of the 5th of June," Kingsley's voice resounded, "into the offences committed under the Decree for the Unlawful Termination of Life using Magic and the Decree for the Anti-Terror Magical Movement by Mister Draco Malfoy, resident at Malfoy Manor…"

The words became warped in Draco's mind. 'There is no hope for redemption now,' he thought as he looked at the magically-induced handcuffs binding his wrists. He didn't know if the feeling of hopelessness was brought about by the presence of the Dementors, the sullen atmosphere in the dungeon, or the fact that no one will be present in his trial to clear up his name.

"Interrogators: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic; Justin Asher Kraft, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Akari Wakahisa, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister; Ford Artemis Bowler, Court Scribe ; Leander Apollo Wight, lawyer for the defense."

Mister Wight started to pace in front of the Wizengamot, and the people sitting on the rows of benches gazed at the brown-haired lawyer with interest.

Kingsley Shacklebolt cleared his throat momentarily before resuming the speech. "Mister Wight, are there any witnesses you would want to call for the defense?" said the Minister. Draco saw Wight's brows furrow and the creases on his forehead deepen. The scratchy sound of writing echoed inside the courtroom.

Mister Wight was about to open his mouth to speak when the door creaked open. The shadowed faces of the Wizengamot shifted to the entering man. A buzz in the crowd drowned the scribbling sound.

Draco turned around to take a look too. The contrast of light hid the man's face, and for a moment he could not decipher who entered the room. But as the door shut, he was surprised to see the very last person he expected to come.

The buzz instantly died down as a clear, deep voice resonated in the room. The court scribe resumed his writing.

"Witness for the defense, Harry James Potter."

**TBC**

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**A/N:** All kinds of reviews are most welcome. Come on readers, give me some love! Press the review link and let me know what you think about the story so far.

Anyway, thanks for reading!

- rei


	5. Chapter 4: The Verdict

DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling. All credits should go to her.   
**WARNING: DH SPOILERS…well, basically all the HP books are spoiled here.**

**It's Just A Tale**  
By reiAlethea

**Chapter 4: The Verdict**

"_There is a wonderful mythical law of nature that the three things we crave most in life - happiness, freedom, and peace of mind - are always attained by giving them to someone else."_  
Peyton Conway March

Murmur turned to an uproar inside the courtroom. Kingsley Shacklebolt pounded the gavel on the pedestal with a bit more force to silence the squabbling Wizengamot members.

For a moment, Draco thought he was dreaming. A stoic demeanor remained on his face, but as Potter walked, he felt his weak mask slowly slip away. He knew it was impossible to convince Potter to come to the trial, and the letter he received as well as the absence of a reply made that fact all the more clear. But as the lightning-shaped scar peeped through jet-black strands, there was no mistaking the scar that branded The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice. Draco blinked his eyes several times, trying to convince himself that it was all an illusion, a trick. But like an apparition, Potter came closer and closer towards him.

Emerald eyes suddenly met his. One intent glance, and Draco's mind went completely numb. When the raven-haired wizard brushed past him and slightly bumped his robe-covered arm, goose bumps immediately raised all over his cold skin. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, and all the denials melted away. Reality struck him: Harry Potter, the Savior of the Wizarding World and the schoolmate whom he had collided with from the start, was there, indeed present.

Draco's mind was short-circuiting. Ever since they met in the Hogwarts train during their first year, they had been sworn enemies. And enemies weren't supposed to help enemies. So why was Potter here? Whatever was happening now, Draco thought, was not supposed to happen. He simply couldn't comprehend Potter's sudden appearance. Did Potter…care?

Absurd! Harry Potter, of all people! However, he was horrified to find himself relishing at the thought. He tried to shake it out of his mind, but the more he tried, the more pronounced his elation grew. Why did he feel happy, knowing that Potter might be concerned somehow? He cursed his traitorous emotions inwardly, wishing that he could devoid himself of any feeling. But at the moment, he allowed himself an inkling of happiness. As long as no one knew, it wouldn't hurt, right?

How he hated himself now.

* * *

Kingsley peered at the approaching young, raven-haired wizard. "Mister Potter. What a surprise to see you here." The minister's voice was frigid, but his chestnut brown eyes glinted with mild amusement. "You do agree to be Mister Malfoy's witness?"

Harry looked at Kingsley awaiting his reply, who still seemed surprised and fascinated with his presence. His hand found its way to one of his cloak pocket. Reaching for a parchment tucked in it, he clutched it with heavy palms, crumpling it under the crushing weight.

"Yes."

Murmurs of disbelief and the furious scribbling of the court scribe resounded in the dungeon. "Very well Mister Potter," said Kingsley, "you may take your seat."

Harry glanced at the straight-faced Mister Wight standing a few feet away. The lawyer nodded slightly, seemingly pleased with his presence. As Kingsley pounded the gavel to drown out the whispers, his eyes shifted to the rows of benches at the back of the room. Seeing the empty pews, he realized that he was the only witness in Malfoy's trial. However hard he tried to deny, a wave of sympathy for the blond coursed through him.

"Minister Shacklebolt," Mister Wight said abruptly, "may I ask for a brief recess to talk to my client and the witness?"

A fine buzz began to echo in the courtroom once more. "Very well," replied Kingsley, his other hand busy rolling the piece of parchment lying on top of the pedestal. "The trial will have a 30-minute recess."

Pounding the gavel one last time, the members of the Wizengamot started to filter out of the courtroom, their voices rising and falling with each echoing footfall.

"This is indeed an unexpected but welcomed surprise," the auburn-haired lawyer said, extending his hand to Harry. "Leander Apollo Wight, lawyer of the defense."

"Harry Potter," Harry said as he shook the lawyer's offered hand.

Mister Wight smiled and released the handshake. "I'm very honored to meet you at last, Mister Potter. Me and my client, Mister Malfoy thought you weren't coming."

"I'm sorry. It's a bit last-minute," he explained.

"Better late than never," Mister Wight quipped.

"Potter."

He recognized the voice all too well. Harry glanced at the tall, slender figure walking towards Mister Wight. Draco Malfoy paced deliberately slow, his bound hands peeping underneath loose gray long sleeves.

"Malfoy."

Harry watched the shell of the enemy he once knew. The drawling features that were distinctly Malfoy were gone. Instead, a gaunt pale man stood before him. The platinum blond locks that once shone even under the faintest light were now matte and unkempt, and darkened circles were nestled under blank and indecipherable silvery gray eyes.

Suddenly, their gazes met, green against silver. To Harry, it seemed as though time suspended. Malfoy's hauntingly empty gray eyes stared back at him, his own face reflected on the glassy orbs. The detached persona perhaps hadn't left yet, Harry mused. However, for the faintest second, he thought he saw a flash of fear and apprehension in the same gray eyes – the same expression he saw when he caught the blond crying in the boy's bathroom during their sixth year.

Mister Wight cleared his throat, breaking their eye contact. "I hate to cut in Mister Potter," Mister Wight interrupted, "but I have to talk to you about the details of the hearing. If we can step outside and into the adjoining conference room just across with Mister Malfoy and your companions, we can start with our short meeting."

When Harry looked at Malfoy again, the silvery gray eyes were back to their distant state. Only then did he notice the two looming figures of Malfoy's guards standing on each side.

He remembered the Aurors he had in tow and sighed. He had been under the protection of the two under direct orders from Kingsley Shacklebolt for fear that the remaining Death Eaters-at-large would attempt a surprise attack on him. Glancing at the two Aurors guarding Malfoy, he felt he was no different from the blond at the moment.

Harry nodded in response to the lawyer. Mister Wight smiled once more. "Splendid. This way please, gentlemen," he said, leading them outside the dark courtroom.

* * *

It was the longest two hours of Draco's life. As he sat in the middle of the courtroom guarded by Dementors and Aurors, a certain light feeling wrapped his mind. He felt drained after the interrogators' intense questioning. But the worst was almost over. The melodious voice of Mister Wight echoed once more in the dungeon walls.

"I call on Mister Harry James Potter."

The faint muttering ceased and every pair of eyes turned to the dark-haired wizard sitting on the benches. Mister Wight conjured another seat a few paces away from Draco with a swish of his wand, and in the chair he saw Potter sit, merely resting on its end.

"State your full name," said Kingsley. Draco noticed Potter grip the wooden armrests of his chair tightly.

"Harry James Evans Potter."

"And what relation do you have with the accused?" the dark-skinned Minister asked.

Potter paused for a while, seemingly contemplating what to say. Just when Draco dreaded the reply, he answered. "I'm Draco Malfoy's previous schoolmate."

Mister Wight started asking a series of questions, but as he tried to listen to Potter give a statement to the Wizengamot, confusion clouded his mind. Previous schoolmate? The reply perplexed Draco immensely. Potter could have told the Wizengamot the truth – that he was not in good terms with him right from the beginning. However, the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice settled with a vague answer instead. His mind was swimming in a myriad of questions that most likely will remain unanswered, but he didn't want it to be so. He wanted answers, and answers he will definitely get…possibly after the trial today.

The raven-haired wizard's voice reached his ears, pulling him out of stupor. "I saw Professor Snape kill Professor Dumbledore that night on top of the Astronomy Tower. Malfoy just disarmed the Professor, but he didn't even give as much as a shallow cut to him."

Memories of the night in the Astronomy Tower resurfaced in Draco's mind. He felt like he was slipping in and out of those haunted memories as he watched the person he once bullied at Hogwarts testify for him. Nobody noticed his discolored windburned lips tighten.

_He looked at the face of the disarmed Headmaster as the glowing Dark Mark hovered above the Astronomy Tower. A green hue tinged the old wizard's creased features. Draco couldn't help but shudder at the task he had to do. How could he kill the Headmaster of the school?_

_Dumbledore's eyes shone with understanding – the very last thing he expected to see. It unnerved him, and he knew it would only be a matter of seconds before his weak indifferent facade crumble._

"_Come over to the right side, Draco," said Dumbledore, "and we can hide you more completely than you can possibly imagine. What is more, I can send members of the Order to your mother to hide her likewise. Your father is safe at the moment in Azkaban…when the time comes we can protect him too."_

_Draco wanted to believe the headmaster's words, wanted to believe that by giving up the task his family will be safe. However, he knew those words were too good to be true._

"…_come over to the right side, Draco…you are not a killer…"_

_Not a killer? His face felt hot all of a sudden, and tears seemed to build up in the corners of his eyes. He remembered all of the people he nearly killed because his attempts to end the headmaster's life backfired. How can Dumbledore say that he was not a killer? _

_He mustered his strength and spoke once more, trying hard to hide the tremulous tone in his voice. "But I got this far, didn't I? They thought I'd die in the attempt, but I'm here…and you're in my power…I'm the one with the wand…you're at my mercy…"_

_Dumbledore's eyes reflected sadness. "No Draco. It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now."_

_His heart pounded mercilessly in his chest, realization sinking within him. Dumbledore was right. If there was anyone strong enough to face Voldemort, it would be the headmaster. His wand hand trembled._

_The door behind him burst open, and suddenly he found himself pushed aside by his fellow Death Eaters. There was much shuffling and jeering, but all Draco was aware of at the moment was the fear that he felt. With Death Eaters surrounding him, there was no escaping his task. _

"_Draco, do it," Alecto Carrow shrilled, "or stand aside so that one of us – "_

_Another loud bang from the door, and he saw Snape emerge from the dark stairwell. His coal-colored eyes gleamed against the moonlight, scanning the scene for every detail. _

_Amycus addressed the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor without taking his eyes off Dumbledore. "We've got a problem, Snape. The boy doesn't seem able to – "_

"_Severus…"_

_Dumbledore's faint voice echoed, and before Draco knew it, he felt himself hurtled to the side once more. Snape walked towards the heaped form of the headmaster, his face showing only loathing._

_Dumbledore pleaded once more. "Severus…please…"_

_As if in slow motion, Draco watched as Snape raised his wand._

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

_Green light burst in the Astronomy Tower, and with silent horror, Draco saw Dumbledore fall into the dark abyss._

Kingsley shuffled with the parchment he was holding and spoke again. "What about Mister Malfoy's participation with the Death Eaters?"

Draco shivered. He tried to shake the memory out of his mind. Attempting to revert his attention to Potter's statement, he looked at the hunched form of the raven-haired man sitting on the chair. He noticed the hard look that shone on the slightly tanned face.

"Honestly, I don't know," Harry replied. "All I know is it's because of him that I'm alive today. If he had identified the three of us when we were captured, we would still be in the hands of Voldemort."

Another wave of mumbling resonated in the courtroom, and Kingsley cleared his throat to silence the crowd.

"Mister Potter, would you care to expound on the matter?"

As he recounted the events that happened, Draco's mind flew back again to the time the three arrived in Malfoy Manor.

_He heard much shuffling as Greyback brought a new group of people he and the other Snatchers caught. His mother let Greyback's group enter and the freshly caught booty were chucked to the spacious drawing room._

_His father rose in his seat and went to the crowd. "What is this?" he heard his father say. His mother walked closer to the sprawled captives._

"_They said they've got Potter." His mother turned around and looked at him. "Draco, come here."_

_He looked at the dark-haired person crumpled on the floor. The slightly tanned face was bruised and stretched beyond recognition. Despite the lack of scar on the forehead and the unrecognizable features, he somehow felt it was Potter who was hunched in front of him. How he knew this he didn't understand._

"_Well boy?" asked Greyback._

_Lucius' eyes glowed with impatience and excitement. "Well Draco? Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"_

_He glanced to his mother who was also looking at the distorted face of the man groped on the floor. _

_His mind went blank. He didn't know whether he will tell them or not. Just one more mistake and something bad would happen to him or his parents. He didn't want to experience the wrath of the Dark Lord._

"_I can't – I can't be sure…"he mumbled._

"Don't take it to offence, Mister Potter, but mere statements are somewhat insufficient, given the nature of the accusation against Mister Malfoy," exclaimed one of the Wizengamot members. "We need hard evidence, not just some tale!"

"How dare you say that to Mister Potter!" a witch shouted back.

The usual muttering now swelled to a loud babbling, and Draco was roused to full alert when Kingsley hammered the gavel on the pedestal in front of him. The drone of the crowd instantly died down.

"Mister Potter," Kingsley started, "I have no choice but to ask you for evidence Can you present any to the Wizengamot to prove that Mister Draco Malfoy is, indeed, innocent of murdering Albus Dumbledore and participating in You-Know-Who's movement?

Draco's eyes flew to Potter's back. He thought that he saw the shoulders stiffen for a moment.

"I can show you my memories to prove it."

* * *

The sound of gasps, disbelief and amusement roared back to life. Kingsley pounded the pedestal harder this time to silence the crowd. He whispered to a Wizengamot member sitting beside him. With a curt nod, the wizard rose and weaved out of the pews.

"Very well Mister Potter," Kingsley resumed, "retrieve your memories of the said events in front of the Wizengamot and place them in the vials that will be provided for viewing."

After a few seconds, the young wizard that was sitting beside the minister returned, holding a silver tray with three glass vials. He was followed by another older wizard carrying an object that resembled a large mirror.

During the past weeks he had been trained about other useful spells, including the _Recordatracto _spell that retrieved memories. But using that spell was painful and numbing at the same time, and how he hated it.

A moment of hesitation passed in him. However, if using it meant it could save another person – even Malfoy, he would endure the pain.

Harry pulled his wand out and placed the tip against his temple. He looked at the twinkling vials before him, inhaled, and closed his eyes. A thousand different memories flashed before his mind.

"Recordatracto," he murmured. A silver, airy wisp floated out. His forehead scrunched and his grip tightened as he pulled out the last of a particular memory. Grasping one vial, he directed the wisp inside the glass and placed a stopper. Beads of sweat had started to form on his head when he pulled out another memory from his temple.

"Mister Wight, please place Mister Potter's memories in the praeterulum."

The lawyer carefully got the first vial on the silver tray, unstoppered it, and slowly poured the wispy contents on the lying mirror-like object. Seconds passed before he shifted the mirror again to an upright position.

A hazy cloud washed over the praeterulum's shiny surface. The smoke soon tangled and formed to vivid images, and the Wizengamot watched as the memories played like a roll of film. Dumbledore's hunched form reflected on the mirror-like object. The conversation was amplified in the courtroom. Most members recoiled in horror as they watched Snape cast the Unforgivable Curse at the headmaster. It was soon followed by a silent gasp as Dumbledore fell from the tower.

Harry watched once more the events that he tried so hard to forget. Seeing Dumbledore fall once more made the headmaster's death all the more real. He closed his eyes and turned his head away, not wanting to witness the events anymore.

The images melted away to nothing but a blur. The crowd was still shaken when the wizard poured the contents of the second vial into the praeterulum, making the cloudy surface blend to distinct images once more. The Malfoy Manor loomed into view, and the Wizengamot members watched as the Malfoys and some of the Death Eaters tried to configure the identity of the captives.

Malfoy's figure was a few feet away from the captives, his eyes seemingly avoiding the crumpled heap that were the captives. "Well boy?" Greyback's snarling face sneered at the young Malfoy.

Lucius Malfoy studied the face of the captive, his eyes shining with crazed enthusiasm. "Well Draco? Is it? Is it Harry Potter?" He peered closer to the disfigured face of the dark-haired man.

"I can't – I can't be sure…"

The image dissipated to an inky smoke once more. The members talked animatedly amongst themselves as the wizards removed the praeterulum and the vials from the courtroom.

"You may take your seat on the benches Mister Potter," Kingsley motioned. Harry stood up, relieved to be excused from sitting in the middle of the courtroom.

As the Wizengamot members exchanged reactions, Harry looked at Malfoy sitting quietly on the chair in the middle of the courtroom. The deed was done, and all he can do was wait. And as he watched, he found himself inwardly wishing that he had done enough to help.

* * *

A good half-hour had passed before the Minister of Magic cleared his throat to silence the members. "In light of the presented evidence, the Wizengamot will now decide on the two offences. Those in favor of clearing the accused of the murder charges?" Kingsley said.

Draco looked up and saw that two-thirds had raised their hands, including Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Those in favor of conviction?" he added, and the remaining people raised their hands as well.

"For the second offence, those in favor of clearing the accused?" Kingsley repeated once more. A few members raised their hands. "Those in favor of conviction?" a couple of hands were raised as well.

"Honorable Minister," a red-haired witch said, "the rest of the Wizengamot agrees that the evidence presented by Mister Harry Potter regarding the second offence is insufficient to come up with a decision. Therefore, we are requesting for a continuing trial regarding the involvement of Mister Draco Malfoy with the Death Eaters."

Most of the members nodded and voiced their agreement to the witch's suggestion. Kingsley shuffled the parchment in front of him. "In this case, those who are in favor of a continuing trial please raise your hand up."

Almost all of the members sitting on the benches raised their hands. Upon seeing the wave of hands, Kingsley retrieved a small wooden stamp. "Mister Draco Malfoy, you are cleared of charges for the murder of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, previous headmaster of Hogwarts." he said as he brought the stamp crashing on the parchment. "For the charges on your participation on the Death Eaters' Movement, the trial will resume on the 10th of June. This trial is adjourned."

The gavel came crashing down the wooden pedestal, signaling the end of the grueling trial. As the Wizengamot filtered out of the room, he stood up, his head still floating.

'Potter.' He had to ask him why he testified to his defense. He whirled around quickly, looking at the benches for a sign of the raven-haired wizard. He saw Potter descending the steps, followed closely by the three Aurors who accompanied him. He paced, making his way towards Potter. He had almost reached his target when someone grasped his wrist.

"Mister Malfoy, this way please."

An Auror loomed before him. The manacles binding his hand clanked, reminding him that despite being cleared of the murder of Dumbledore, he was still not granted freedom. He looked at the gathering crowd once more, but Potter was nowhere to be found. He wanted answers, but with his current plight it seemed to him that he must wait. With one last retreating look, he allowed himself to be led by his guards back to the prison chamber he loathed so much.

* * *

With the Aurors swiftly following behind, Harry hurriedly walked out of the courtroom. But as soon as he stepped out of the dungeons, a hand in the crowd shot out and grabbed him.

Harry spun around, still disoriented from the sudden pull, when he looked up and saw the face of Hermione Granger. Happy to see his friend, he was about to hug Hermione when a wand shot out, pointing at the girl's neck.

"HEY!" Harry snapped, "SHE'S MY FRIEND!"

Another witch hurried towards Harry. "DAWLISH JR.! Put your bloody wand down this instant! That's Hermione Granger!" The Auror quickly lowered his wand and murmured an apology.

"I'm sorry about that, 'mione," Harry said, "these are John Dawlish Jr. and Hestia Jones. They're Aurors who, erm, look after me."

Looking surprised for a second, Hermione stammered a "there's no harm done," before pulling Harry in a fierce hug.

"I heard from Mister Weasley about the trial today." she said after pulling away. "How are you doing?"

Harry smiled. "I'm fine, I guess. But let's talk somewhere private."

Hermione looked reluctant, but said yes. It was enough for Harry's spirits to go up. The pair went out of the dungeons with the Aurors still in tow.

Soon, Harry and Hermione arrived in Hog's Head. Despite the small number of patrons, both opted to sit at a very dark corner instead of the counter. Harry asked the Aurors to sit a few feet away from them, which the two obliged. When the two friends finally sat down, silence enveloped for a good few minutes, no one wanting to utter the first word.

Aberforth Dumbledore trudged towards the pair while cleaning a mug. "What will it be for you lot?"

"Tea please," Hermione said.

"Same," Harry replied.

As the owner left, Hermione started the conversation. "So Harry, how was the trial?" she asked.

"It went more smoothly than I expected," Harry answered, "I had to present some evidence, so I pulled out my memories."

Hermione's jaw dropped in awe. "You used the memory-encapsulating charm?" she asked, "oh my God Harry, that spell is complicated! I didn't know you were already that advanced in your training."

He gave a weak smile. "It hurt though," he said.

"Of course, it must have," Hermione replied. "To pull out a fragment of memory out of one's mind, however small it may be, is still taxing in the brain." Hermione paused for a while, seemingly contemplating the words she would say. After twiddling her fingers for a good few minutes, she breathed deeply and started to speak.

"So what happened to Malfoy? Has he been set free?"

Harry's smile disappeared immediately. "No. The evidence was not enough, so he will have another trial."

Hermione squeaked "oh," seemingly shocked at the outcome. A few minutes of silence followed, both unsure of what to say next. The tea arrived soon after, but it was almost ignored. The contents in the teacups started to get cold.

Harry resolved that he will start the conversation this time.

"How is Ron?" he asked.

Hermione looked at the dark-haired wizard and sighed. "Well, you know Ron," she said, "as stubborn as ever. I tried talking to him to get some sense out of him but he refuses to hear me out. Let's just let him be for the meantime and let him realize it for himself."

It had already been two weeks since he last talked to Ron. There was still no sign that the redhead will patch things up with him anytime soon, and he was already missing his best friend. On the other hand, he was also feeling guilty for dragging Hermione into the mess. Harry stretched his hand out to clasp Hermione's hand resting on the table. "I'm really sorry about this 'mione. You're caught in the middle of this frenzy because of me."

Hermione's brown eyes softened. "It's not your fault Harry," she replied. "I understand what you were trying to say last time. It's just that Ron is going through a tough time right now. Don't worry about me, I can handle him."

Harry sighed resignedly, his head buried in his hands. Hermione looked at her with concern.

"Harry, what's wrong? You look as though you haven't slept for days."

Harry stared at the sugar bowl lying a few inches away from him. "Hermione, what am I doing?" he asked. "Why did I willingly start this commotion for Malfoy?"

Hermione frowned. "Because you know it's the right thing to do," she said, "you're just too noble, Harry. You're a bloody Gryffindor, through and through!"

Harry closed his eyes. He still was at awe at his own actions. The reasons why he was helping Malfoy, the bully who had tormented him for most of his stay at Hogwarts, were still amiss to him. He was acting out of pure instinct, or as Hermione would usually put it, out of stubborn Gryffindor nobleness.

"But Ron's my friend…"

"Ron just said that because he is still hurt from Fred's passing," Hermione cut, "but if he's back to his senses, I know he will also support you."

"And the Order – "

"Oh for heaven's sake!" Hermione sighed, "If you're thinking that you betrayed the Order, you are not. Honestly Harry, if you didn't testify, would you be at ease as well?"

Harry slightly swirled the contents of his teacup. The dark leaves suspended in the amber liquid at the disturbance. The peace of mind he was hoping for was still as murky as the tea he held in his hand. He didn't want to be accountable again for another person's life. The war had left him with so much regret and guilt that he was uncertain if he would still be able to keep his sanity if another death happened again. But another life was offered to him, asking him to save it from inevitable destruction. It might not be the life of someone close to him, but he could still feel the weight of the burden placed upon his shoulders.

"No, I won't…" he feebly murmured.

Hermione stopped Harry from playing with his tea. The raven-haired wizard looked at his friend's brown eyes. "Remember this Harry. It's always better to follow your conscience."

Harry sighed again and stared at the leaves that settled at the bottom of the cup. He could almost make out a shape of a serpent.

"I hope you're right Hermione. I hope you're right."

The two smiled and sipped their cold tea. And as they started to exchange stories once more, they were unaware of another pair of gleaming black eyes looking at them intensely.

**TBC**

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A/N:

Sorry for the wait. I had been struggling with the flow of the plot in this chapter, so it took more time than the previous ones. Anyway, this chapter is laced with references from HBP and DH, so yeah, lots of spoilers. You had been warned from the beginning.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Again, reviews of all kinds are most welcome. Thanks for reading!

-rei


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